


end of the world, and again, and again

by mushydesserts



Series: (the only light we'll see) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Post-game Fallout, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushydesserts/pseuds/mushydesserts
Summary: When Noctis is gone, the first one to break is Gladio. And Ignis. And Prompto.The others are there to pick up the pieces. (Kinkmeme fill. Heed the warnings in the tags.)





	1. Gladio

**Author's Note:**

> (Warning: suicide attempts; not explicit, mostly aftermath. Coping, survivor's guilt, PTSD, albeit with a hopeful ending.) 
> 
> For [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3451.html?thread=4316539#cmt4316539). 
> 
> I couldn't decide on one scenario, so I did all three. Takes place in three different timelines.

 

_1\. Gladio_

 

When Prompto finds him, his hands are cold.

"Big guy, don't. Don't you do this," he says. "Don't even think about it."

Gladio laughs weakly. "You don't understand," he says.

"I _understand_ Ignis is going to kick your ass," Prompto says, voice cracking.

"Listen. I've been waiting for this," Gladio says into the air, shudder, slow like ice water. "All my life. It's what... I was born for." The words are halting.

Prompto says something, distant shout. There are footsteps. Prompto runs.

Gladio breathes.

(Despite everything.)

 

When he wakes, Ignis is at his bedside. Gladio has never been sure how Ignis knows when he wakes, but he always does. Now, Ignis raises his head.

Ignis's voice is soft, and the coldest he's ever heard it.

_"How dare you."_

Gladio winces.

Prompto is fast asleep, head on Gladio's lap over the blankets. He stirs a little. Gladio's hand rests on Prompto's back, lightly. Prompto settles. Ignis takes a moment to try to compose himself, but whatever he's doing, it isn't working. Gladio can see his hands shaking from here.

"You would leave us here. Is that what you meant to do?" Ignis sounds like he's struggling to keep his voice even.

"That wasn't really the point," Gladio exhales. He looks away.

"Prompto?" His voice is sharp. "Think of _Iris._ "

"She's better at this than I am," Gladio says. "They both are."

"Then _practice,_ " Ignis says, scathing and matter-of-fact.

Gladio feels like he should be ashamed, but he's not sure he can manage it. He's just so damn exhausted these days. He can tell they are, too. But sometime during the ten years of dark, all of them found something. They kept going.

Gladio just... drifted. A soldier's only as good as the country he fights for, and his country's been gone a long time.

"I haven't gotten better at it in the last decade," Gladio says, trying to be noncommittal. "Don't see how it's gonna change now."

Ignis's breath stutters, hisses. He presses both of his hands into fists in his lap. Gladio does feel bad now; it was meant to be a soft let-down, but he's never been all that good at soft.

"You know this, Iggy," Gladio says, gentle. He rests his forearm over his eyes. "A Shield ain't much without its King."

Years and years of training. That's what they always told him. What was he supposed to do?

Ignis sounds angry. "You're not a shield, Gladio. You're a human being. You're with us."

Gladio blinks at the ceiling. "Not so sure I am."

Part of him still feels like it's back in the dark, swarms of daemons and burning blades, bursts of poison light, crunching bone and claws and screeching, blood plastering his hair to his face. Surviving had seemed so easy then.

It's a long time before either of them speaks again, Prompto's unconscious breathing soft and hitched.

Ignis rises from his chair, stiff and poised at once. Gladio watches warily, heart hammering in his throat, as Ignis takes two strides and kneels beside the bed.

Ignis's hands finds his forearm before his fingers run down it, down across bare skin, to his wrist, to his hand. Ignis grasps it carefully, none of the white-knuckled strength in his fists earlier. His unseeing eye is fixed elsewhere.

Ignis's hands are warm, strange and jolting relief.

_"You come back,"_ Ignis says.

Gladio's still not sure if he can.

"It doesn't matter how long," Ignis says, low. "You find us."

Gladio thinks of all the orders he's obeyed in his lifetime, all the promises he would've kept if he could. He thinks of faraway summers and laughter, sizzling meat on the grill, dust and motor oil smeared on smirking faces, the smell of lake water and crackle of campfire and the chirping of tiny birds outside the canvas walls of the tent.

Ignis doesn't let go.

Gladio swallows. "Yeah," he says. "Sure."

 

 


	2. Ignis

 

_2\. Ignis_

 

"Let me guess. It didn't work," Ignis says.

"Nope." Gladio's voice is tired, tired, gentle. "You're stuck with us."

Ignis sighs.

 

They don't really talk about it.

Gladio cooks. Gladio cooks, cleans, does the laundry, works on the garden where things are beginning to grow again. He brings Ignis water every hour, on the hour. Ignis doesn't even drink it all — who could? — but Gladio is always there to refill the glass.

He sets on the radio when he does dishes and hums, a wordless song. He tells Ignis stories that Iris passes on, about hunters and traders passing through Lestallum, about the state of the new outposts. Sometimes, he asks Ignis about some old bit of history from the books they had studied as children. Ignis has a better memory for dates and names, though Gladio remembers more of the details.

Sometimes, he just sits nearby, window open, turning pages. Ignis doesn't know what he's reading.

 

Gladio always burns the food.

No matter how Ignis directs him, he never gets it right. The vegetables turn out charred, the pastry shells too crisp, the muffins smoking lumps of charcoal.

"I could teach you the recipe," Ignis says.

"I know the recipe," Gladio says.

Gladio lets Ignis at the stove eventually, lets him blow the dust out of the pots and swirl oil onto the pans. Ignis selects the vegetables, prods them to make sure they're ripe; he shows Gladio how to sear fish properly. Gladio still insists on chopping the ingredients, measuring the spices. He hovers, watching Ignis adjust the dials on the oven. He helps Ignis roll up his sleeves without prompting. He has the mittens on standby.

"For Six's sake, let me bake," Ignis eventually says, exasperated.

"Only if you let me help," Gladio says, hands careful as he ties the fastenings on Ignis' apron.

 

At night, Prompto sleeps in his bed. He can't sleep anywhere else now.

Prompto whispers _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ , over and over again into Ignis's neck, hot and saltwater, his face pressed into Ignis' skin and his arms wrapped tight around him like wires, like he's trying to keep Ignis from leaving. _I wanna be, I wanna be enough, Iggy. I promised. I'm sorry._

Ignis just strokes his hair, slow, tentative, Prompto burrowing deep into his side.

 

A year later, Gladio joins them in bed.

He doesn't say a word. His arm is a warm weight across Ignis's stomach, legs tangled in Prompto's across the way.

They're content to lie there long after the sun rises, whether the three of them are asleep or not. Ignis has to kick them both out of the bed every morning. They rise with him.

 

Gladio burns the tomatoes.

He sounds like he's frowning. "Never liked 'em anyway," he confesses.

Prompto snickers.

Ignis's mouth flickers into a smile. For the first time in a while, it feels like it sits right.

 

 


	3. Prompto

 

_3\. Prompto_

 

"I really thought I could do it," Prompto says. He chokes a sad little laugh out. "Can't get anything right, huh?"

Gladio has his wrist in a vise grip. "Prom," he says. It sounds like something is broken in his chest.

"I don't want," Prompto says. He licks his lips. They're dry. "I'm kind of scared."

"Hang on." Gladio presses Prompto to his chest, gently, cradling him like he's made of glass. It's kind of nice.

"I'm sorry about this," Prompto mutters into his shoulder before he passes out.

 

When Prompto wakes, he feels like he must have had a wild night. It takes a moment to remember exactly how wild it was.

"Morning," Ignis says, frying eggs at the stove.

Prompto sits up gingerly. Daylight is streaming into the caravan. "Morning," he says.

"Gladio's out for supplies," Ignis says. "He'll be back shortly." He flips the eggs. They sizzle.

"Huh." Prompto wonders if they're all going to pretend last night didn't happen. He kind of hopes so, even if that would probably say a lot about how fucked-up they all are.

Ignis turns his head slightly, setting down the pan. "Tea?" he offers.

Prompto sniffs. "What, no coffee?" Sure smells like there is.

"The coffee is for me," Ignis says mildly.

Prompto grins sheepishly. "Sure, then. Uh, honey and milk's good." Ignis complies.

Prompto sits in the mess of blankets on the cot and watches Ignis plod around the kitchen, fiddling with the toaster, running his hand across the labels on the shelves in the fridge. Prompto knows better than to offer to help. Ignis plates a few slices of toast, scoops out a pat of butter; he pours milk into the tea and gives it a light stir. There's no meat or vegetables. Gladio must be out getting those.

Prompto marvels that lights are off and he can still see Ignis. He's still not used to that.

Finally, Ignis sits down next to Prompto on the bed. He offers him the mug. Prompto accepts it.

Ignis warms his hands on his own mug of coffee.

"We owe you an apology," he says, quiet.

"Eh?" Prompto tries to figure out what Ignis is talking about.

"Gladio and I," Ignis clarifies. "We should have been there."

Oh. They're talking about last night after all, then. Prompto feels the tips of his ears turn red. "Right. That. Well, I mean, you're right here. Gladio was definitely there. Sorry about that," Prompto feels compelled to add. They have a lot to worry about these days, and they shouldn't be tripping over themselves because Prompto can't deal without becoming a total mess.

"No," Ignis says. "We failed you."

"Failed what?"

"Failed to see."

"That's totally fair, dude," and Prompto claps his hand over his mouth.

Ignis's mouth twitches. "Failed to perceive," he corrects. "You hide well. But we should have known better."

Prompto lowers his hand. "It's not such a big deal," he says, casual. It sort of is, maybe, but Prompto doesn't want to make it one.

"You're wrong about that," Ignis says.

Prompto fidgets. He's not sure what to say. He was _good_ at talking about his feelings once. Who knew that could get rusty?

Ignis shifts. He says, "Do you think Gladio and I are here because of our passion for restructuring?"

Prompto blinks. "Uh. I dunno? Gladio seems to like hauling stuff around." Gladio might've been meant to be a farmer, actually. They've all been learning the weirdest things about each other since the end of the war.

"Believe it or not, the two of us are not the most well-adjusted pair," Ignis says wryly.

Understatement. Prompto kind of gets that. It's like they'd been raised to do one thing since they were kids, and now nobody's telling them what to do, and they can't figure out how to function. Prompto's seen how Gladio and Ignis stick to their routines, push-ups at night and laps in the morning, knives laid out clean, even though they haven't been used for anything but gutting fish for a long while.

Prompto doesn't have that.

Prompto's just got... he's not totally sure. Moments of weakness, he guesses. Usually he's fine.

"Yeah, I don't think any of us are," Prompto admits.

Ignis huffs a small laugh. "You're doing better than you think," he says softly.

Prompto swings his legs idly. He stares into his mug. He hopes so.

The weather seems like summer outside. It's difficult to tell, but it's been long enough since the light came back that the seasons are starting to cycle again. The roads are getting some long-needed maintenance, even if the paving is mostly patch jobs. Lestallum is organizing for resettlement of outlying lands, and the trading routes along Longwythe and Caem are opening up again; the hunters are out in the further reaches, salvaging and harvesting. Cindy and Cid are still at the garage in Hammerhead. Prompto had told them he'd swing by with new materials in the next few weeks.

He had been afraid of dying for such a long time. He recalls that dimly now. He hadn't wanted to be the first to go.

Ignis takes in a breath. "You," he says.

Prompto lifts his head. Ignis can't see him, but he's still turned to face him, the ghost of a direct gaze. Prompto shivers.

"You're why we're still here," Ignis says.

Prompto and Ignis sit in silence.

Outside, Prompto can hear the car door shut. There's the rustle of paper bags, jingle of keys.

Prompto ducks. "Back at ya," he says, low.

Gladio finds them like that when he comes in the door. Ignis rises to help him with the groceries, and Prompto wipes his eyes, just dust, nothing at all.

 

 

(sunrise comes slow, but it comes.)


End file.
